As quick as a shot, the curious onlookers scattered away from the window, sitting in the closest chairs and doing their best to look bored.
Richard entered the parlor, the glint in his eye communicating that their secret was safe with him.
The newly engaged couple followed, whom he proudly presented. Mrs. Bennet was in raptures at the sight of the gold epaulets on the blue embroidered coat.
Mr. Bennet teased, “If uniforms bring you so much pleasure, my dear, I shall have to find my white breeches.” He patted his middle. “And, perhaps, make a trip to the tailor.”
“A blue coat with brass buttons would complement them nicely,” Elizabeth added.
Richard joined them, clapping Darcy on the back. “I apologize for the delay. I was not exaggerating when I said I had to contend with society’s grasp, but the captain could not very well refuse an invitation to Carlton House.”
“The Prince Regent?” Elizabeth gasped.
“He insisted the captain attend his ball … and so, I had to wait.” Richard looked about, saying absently, “Which reminds me … I must speak to Bingley sooner rather than later, or else he will have quite a surprise when he returns to Netherfield Park.”
“What have you done?” Darcy demanded. Bingley had displayed the patience and forgiveness of a saint, delaying his wedding tour, generously opening his residence to Darcy, and riding all over Hertfordshire in search of murderous husbands. He could not in good conscience allow for any more abuse.
Richard sniggered. “You will find out soon enough. Think no more of it when you ought to be dreaming of your wedding. When is the happy day?”
“On the morrow.” Darcy would have preferred that moment, but even he must abide by the church’s rules.
“Perfect. We will be ready.” Richard slipped away to the Bingleys’, leaving Darcy to wonder who the ‘we’ were.
Loathe to permit Anne to celebrate her good fortune, Aunt Catherine joined them in the parlor, her unexpected presence provoking several sideways glances and stilting the conversation.
“Lady Catherine, it would be my honor to see you to the inn,” offered Mr. Collins. He mopped his face with a handkerchief.
Elizabeth stared at him, her expression curious, then settled, then narrow. “You are terribly nervous, Mr. Collins.”
He fumbled his handkerchief, the damp linen dropping to the floor.
Extraordinarily nervous.
Darcy, too, narrowed his eyes at the clergyman.
CHAPTER 36
Elizabeth shook her head. Why had she not seen it before?
Granted, her mind had been occupied with the puzzle surrounding her delayed wedding and Wickham’s artfully contrived appearance. She could hardly be blamed for failing to notice the significance of one vital piece.
“Why are you here, Mr. Collins?” she asked, giving him a chance to explain, a consideration she only extended him in honor of her long-standing friendship with Charlotte.
Mr. Collins stuffed his wadded handkerchief inside his waistcoat pocket. “You are my cousin.” He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his feet, looking like the boy who got caught snatching the last biscuit from the pantry.
She arched her brow. “A sense of familial compulsion?”
“Yes. I have always held your family in high regard—”
“Really? As high a regard as your beloved patroness?”
He blanched, so that it became difficult to distinguish his skin from his shirt collar.
Elizabeth went in for the attack. “You have made it plain since your arrival that you place Her Ladyship’s whims far above the welfare of your own family.”
Fitzwilliam exhaled, pressing his eyes closed and shaking his head. He knew, too.
“Her Ladyship … That is to say...” Mr. Collins began without finishing.
